“He’s stillavoidingme. There’s a difference.” She huffs out a breath. “I don’t understand what his problem is. It’s one evening. For charity. He acts like I’m asking him to donate a kidney.”
“Ben’s a good guy,” I say. “He’ll come around.”
“Ben’s a pain in my?—”
She doesn’t finish. Her heel catches a patch of ice, and she pitches forward with a sharp gasp.
I drop the crate.
The vases will be fine—they’re wrapped in canvas, they can handle a gentle fall. But Tessa can’t, and my body moves before my brain catches up.
My arms are around her before I think about it, catching her against my chest, one hand at her waist and the other gripping her elbow. She’s light—too light, probably not eating enough again—and she fits against me like she was made to be there.
Her scent floods my senses—lavender and citrus and that trace of Ben underneath, but also something else now. Something sweeter. Her heart is pounding. I can feel it through her coat.
And my body responds. Heat pooling low, blood rushing south. I go hard so fast it almost hurts.
Fuck.
“Got you.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I’ve got you.”
She’s pressed against me, close enough that I can see the freckle just below her left ear. The shadows under her eyes. The way her lips part slightly, like she’s forgotten how to breathe.
I’ve imagined this. Late at night, in my workshop, when the quiet gets too loud. What it would feel like to hold her. What sounds she’d make if I kissed her.
The reality is better than anything I imagined. And worse, because now I’ll never be able to forget it.
What am I supposed to do with that?
“The vases,” she says finally, barely above a whisper.
Right. The vases.
I ease her upright slowly, making sure she’s steady before I let go. My hands don’t want to leave her.
I step back anyway.
The crate tipped when I dropped it, but the canvas padding did its job. Nothing broken.
“They’re fine.” I pick the crate up, check it over. My voice sounds strange to my own ears—too controlled, too careful. “You should wear different shoes when it’s icy.”
“I’m fine.” She’s smoothing down her coat, squaring her shoulders. Snapping back into professional mode. “I just didn’t see the—” She stops. Takes a breath. When she looks at me again, something in her face has softened. “Thank you. For catching me.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
I don’t mean for it to come out like that. Like a promise. Like I’d catch her every time she fell, if she’d let me.
But she hears it—I can tell by the way her scent goes warmer, uncertain. By the way she looks at me, really looks, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
We walk the rest of the way in silence. I stay close to her side, ready to catch her again if I need to.
I hope I need to.
Meadow’s Endis warm and bright after the January gray outside.
Sadie looks up from behind the counter when we come in, her face breaking into a smile. “Tessa! Elijah! Are those my vases?”
I set the crate on the counter, and Sadie’s already reaching in before I can step back. She pulls one out, holds it up to the light, and makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.
